


Lost Boys (A Splash that Makes Us Free)

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Free!
Genre: Friendship, Love, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Traumatic Stress, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since the world ended, Haru has spent his time wandering, trying to get through the days. Sometimes he doesn't know why he's trying to get through the days at all and sometimes he thinks maybe he just wants to see Makoto again. Some days he wants to see Makoto so badly, he imagines that when he gets to the crest of a hill, he looks down and there is Makoto coming up—like right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Boys (A Splash that Makes Us Free)

**Author's Note:**

> Possible spoilers for High Speed!, although I've taken liberties with some of the light novel's revelations.

It's been some time since That Thing Came, the thing Makoto always said was beneath the surface of the water. It turned out he was right and That Thing rose up, more monstrously than even Makoto could have imagined (or so Haru thinks or anyhow that's what he hopes, because if that is what Makoto had always felt in the water, Haru does not know what it must have taken for him even to dip a toe in), and now everything is gone. 

It's been some time, Haru doesn't know how long. Days and days. Maybe it's even been years but he doesn't measure time like that anymore, he only thinks of time in terms of days: as in, this is another day to get through.

Sometimes he doesn't know why he's trying to get through the days at all and sometimes he thinks maybe he just wants to see Makoto again, to ask him about That Thing Beneath The Surface. He doesn't really want to think about that, though, let alone talk about it. So maybe he just wants to see Makoto because he wants to see Makoto.

Some days he wants to see Makoto so badly, he imagines that when he gets to the crest of a hill, he looks down and there is Makoto coming up, like right now. Usually they walk to meet each other but this time Imaginary Makoto is running and so, to keep things in balance, Haru stands still. 

When Imaginary Makoto gets to him, he comes to a halt and they look at each other. Usually Imaginary Makoto says hello but for some reason he's not saying anything this time, so Haru decides to do it. "Hello, Makoto."

Tears spill out of Imaginary Makoto's eyes, forge a trail down his face. Haru doesn't know why he would imagine Makoto crying right now. He never wants Makoto to cry. So he reaches out to brush away the tears, and he feels a dampness on his fingertips and something warm and solid and a little rough on the other side of the damp, almost how it feels when he touches his own weathered skin, and he has never been able to touch Imaginary Makoto before even though he always tries.

"What is this?" Haru says, looking at his hand on This Makoto's face. "Is this a dream?"

A half-smile crosses This Makoto's face. His hand comes up to cover Haru's as he turns to look around, gesturing with his other hand. "Does this look like a dream?"

Haru doesn't have to look but he does anyhow. Then he drags his eyes from the desolation and ruination, away from what's left of the landscape, and looks back at This Makoto. "Then, am I dead? Do you love me so much that, even though you don't belong here, you've come to Hell for me?"

More tears spill out, and something like laughter. "I do love you that much, Haru. And this may be Hell—but you're not dead."

Haru watches their hands slip down, still entwined. In his head, he comes up with the idea that Makoto is really here. When he opens his mouth to dare say it, though, he only breathes in hard. And then everything goes black.

 

The darkness recedes, light filtering through Haru's lashes as he blinks. He blinks a few more times and Makoto is still there, silhouetted against the sky. Haru can't see his face, shadowed by the sun-cast halo around his head, but he knows it's Makoto and even before Makoto shifts, shedding the halo as he comes into focus, Haru knows he's smiling.

"How do you feel?" Makoto asks. "Are you all right?"

Sitting up, Haru touches the back of his head where it must have hit the ground; it's tender but doesn't feel sticky and when he looks at his fingers there's no blood. He nods. 

"Good." Still sitting, Makoto stretches out his hand. As it goes past Haru, he realizes Makoto is picking up the shirt he must have taken off to cushion Haru's head. Makoto shakes out the shirt and Haru has a moment to take in how tan Makoto is before he pulls it on overhead. "Do you want to rest awhile?"

With a shake of his head, Haru gets up. Makoto gets to his feet as well, his shirt slipping down more and settling with gravity and his movement. Haru shifts his gaze to the road, looking first the way he was going, from which Makoto has just come, and then back in the direction from which he's just come himself, unsure which of their steps they should retrace.

"It's all right," Makoto says as if he knows what Haru is thinking, and maybe he does: "I know a place we can go." He turns and starts off-road, then pauses to look at Haru, who hasn't moved. "It's all right," he repeats with a smile. "You'll like it there, I promise."

Haru doesn't know how long he's been on this road but it's been enough days that he knows it doesn't go anywhere he wants to go. So, taking a breath when he gets to the edge, he leaves the road to nowhere behind as he follows Makoto.

"Have you seen anyone?" Makoto asks as they start off.

Haru doesn't know if Makoto means anyone specific but he hasn't seen anyone alive since early days, if you could count the dying as alive. "No. What about you? Your family—?"

Makoto shakes his head and wordlessly looks away, but not before Haru sees the light fade from his eyes, gaze turning inward. He doesn't know how deep inside himself Makoto is going but Haru doesn't want him to get lost in there, so he says, "What about the others then?"

Even though he didn't say the swim club, Makoto knows who he means. "Not yet." He glances over at Haru now and the light is back in his eyes, a hint of a smile lingering along the edges of his mouth.

"You say that like you're sure you'll see them again."

"Of course we will! You know Nagisa—nothing can keep that kid down. And Rei only gets stronger the more difficult something is. As for Rin." Makoto breaks off to outright grin now, the curve of his mouth infusing his words with confidence: "Well, he's Rin, isn't he? He may go away but he'll always come back to us."

Haru has seen enough of the world on the road to nowhere to think otherwise. But he also didn't think he was going to see Makoto again, even though he never gave up hoping for it, so with another breath he lets Makoto's smile open him up a little inside, just enough to allow some of Makoto's hope to slip in. 

They walk wordlessly for a while. Haru doesn't ask how long it's going to take to get to where they're going because it isn't really important to him. When he used to walk with Imaginary Makoto, that Makoto would do most of the talking, just like how it was when he and Makoto would walk together in the days Before. Haru is content in his wordless company and doesn't ask anything, especially after his last question went as it did. He knows that when Makoto has something to say, he'll say it.

They've been walking awhile longer when Makoto says, "We were kids when the world ended." Haru doesn't say anything. Neither does Makoto, but Haru knows there's more, and so he waits. "That was, what, two years ago?" This time Haru doesn't answer because he doesn't know; he only measures time in days. But if it has been two years that means he's 20 now. He's ordinary. He doesn't feel ordinary, although with Makoto beside him at least he feels something.

"I don't know about you," Makoto says, "but I still feel like a kid. I mean, I've learned how to do all sorts of things no kid should have to know—how to find food and water, how to tell if it's poisoned or viable, how to find shelter and how to make one when none exists, how to navigate on land by the stars and the sun, how to treat cuts so they don't go septic and how to splint broken bones. I've learned how to stay alive—but I haven't really grown up. The world doesn't work like that anymore, does it?"

It's rhetorical, unanswerable even if it were a real question, but Haru says, "Maybe we'll never grow up."

"Maybe we're the Lost Boys," Makoto says and Haru doesn't know what to do about the smile on Makoto's face when he looks over. "I didn't think of it when I was alone, but there are two of us now so maybe that's what we are."

"Maybe," Haru says because he knows it will make Makoto smile more. He knows that it's a fairytale reference but even so Haru doesn't like to think of Makoto being lost, although maybe there's a difference between being lost and being a Lost Boy; Makoto's smile seems to think so. Anyhow Haru asks, "Where have you been?"

"Wandering," Makoto says. Haru thinks maybe that's all there is, since that's what he's been doing too. But then Makoto says, "I followed the coastline for about a year, I think, before I started coming inland." Haru stumbles when he turns to look at Makoto but he doesn't fall because Makoto's hand is there. "Not because it was really any better there than it was in here, but somehow being able to see the ocean, the idea that there was something on the other side of it—something that, even if it was way off, existed—I don't know, it just gave me a hope I didn't feel elsewhere." He sighs. "I guess that doesn't make sense."

Haru doesn't say anything. He didn't let go of Makoto's hand when Makoto caught him back there and he doesn't let go now.

"At one point I came to a lighthouse," Makoto resumes a few steps later. "It was an old-time one, run manually. So I started it up, just for fun, and stayed there awhile. Eventually, though, I had to admit to myself that it wasn't just for fun anymore: I was hoping to bring a ship home. I don't think I meant to do that when I first got the lighthouse running and I don't know when that hope started in me, but it was too specific and that made it dangerous. Because I also knew, deep down, that it couldn't come true. I couldn't stop hoping, though. So I had to leave before that hopeless hope killed me."

Thinking of Makoto's hopeless hope makes Haru's lungs heavy. He almost feels like he can taste the hopeless salt air of that lighthouse—and then he realizes he can. Maybe not the lighthouse's but the ocean is in every breath he's taking now. 

The heaviness slips down from his lungs through his belly, down, weighting his legs.

"This is it," Makoto says as they come out of the woods, pointing over the edge of the cliff at a cove beneath them. "Come on, there's a path over here." 

The heaviness slides down to Haru's feet. But when Makoto looks over his shoulder, Haru latches onto that smile and lets it lead him on.

The salt in the air collects in Haru's lungs as they make their way down, making it harder to breathe. They reach the bottom and, as his feet hit the sand, Makoto lets go of his hand to start stripping off. When he sees Haru just standing there, Makoto encourages him to do the same—"You look as if you haven't bathed in months," he says, his grin taking the edge off the tease. 

Inside his skin, beneath layers and layers of collected filth, Haru blushes. He bends to remove his shoes first, wondering if he was fast enough to keep Makoto from seeing him color. In any case Makoto doesn't say anything. He finishes undressing first and, naked, heads into the water. Moments later Haru steps out of his underwear and follows. 

When the first wave laps his toes, a chill runs up Haru's spine, freezing him in place. His heart is pounding—and then it's not just his heartbeat, it's the ocean, and Haru always thought they were the same, the ocean and his heart, but That Day he learned they aren't. His heart was pounding then, harder than it is now, but That Thing Beneath The Surface pounded harder, louder; it roared with an unyielding and unrelenting ferocity, crashing down, crashing the world to smithereens, smashing and sweeping away the world and everything in it, everything Haru knew and everything he loved and Haru too, dragging him down and mocking him with the sound of his own heartbeat; dragging him down and down and pushing him around without rhythm, jagged and rough and overwhelming, forcing him open and filling his lungs and shutting down his breath, daring him to breathe water and he couldn't and everything went dark. And when he woke up days later everything was gone. Even what had been left behind, like Haru himself—all that was gone too, even as it remained. There was nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing…

Something touches the edges of Haru's consciousness: his name being called. Already in up to his hips, Makoto has stopped and turned. Haru doesn't know how many times Makoto has said his name but it's so many that his smile has been washed away by the concern flooding his face as he wades back onto the shore. "Haru, you're shaking. What's wrong?"

"The water…"

"It's safe here," Makoto says. "I tested for radiation when I first found it, and I've swum here many times since then." He follows Haru's gaze and adds, "The breakers stay out there; they can't come this far in."

"But the thing under the surface," Haru says, desperation still strangling his breath. 

Makoto's face softens with understanding. "It's not here anymore."

"But it could come back."

"I think I would feel it," Makoto says. "I'm sure of it. And I'm sure it's not around; there's not even a trace." 

Haru looks at Makoto and he wants to believe, oh, he _wants_ to. Especially when Makoto smiles like this.

"Won't you come in, at least a little? You've always loved the water." Makoto's smile curves up more. "And the water loves you."

Haru shakes his head. "I used to think so; I always used to think so." He'd thought so his whole life. "But it never did." He looks down, unable to meet Makoto's gaze or the ocean's. His voice is breaking but he has to go on and so he does: "It didn't warn me. It let me feel safe and free, when that thing was lurking there all along…"

"Haru." Makoto, up on the sand now and close enough to touch, tilts his head to catch Haru's eye. "Haru, the water loves you. It loves you so much it didn't want you to be afraid. That's why it didn't tell you. That's why it told me. There was nothing I could do to stop That Thing from coming, but the water wanted someone to bring you back. The water warned me to be ready, not for That Thing but for all that would come after, so I could bring you back to your one true love."

After days and days of darkness, Haru finds Makoto's smile now too bright to look at directly. His gaze slides off and he finds himself looking out at the deeper, darker ocean beyond the cove. At the waves rising up high and dashing against the rocks, sending up violent sprays as they crash down…

"I'm sorry I wasn't there."

Haru refocuses out of the past, onto Makoto. After a moment he says, "You're here now."

"I am." Makoto smiles again, softly, soft enough to look at. He holds out his hand. "It's just you and me and the water." 

Haru looks at Makoto's smile; he looks from that smile to the hand Makoto is holding out, the same hand that always used to help him out of the water. 

This time he lets it help him in.

The ocean rushes up over his feet, slaps around his legs. The wet slap shivers along his body, up his spine and down to curl his toes in the sand, seeking something solid; but the sand slips away beneath him and his hand tightens around Makoto. 

Makoto waits with him until he's ready for the next step. Takes him in, one step at a time, more and more, until he's chest-deep, the water trying to slap up against his heart and lungs, not quite able to reach. "Here," Makoto says, his hand slipping beneath the water, coming to rest at the small of Haru's back. "Do you want to try floating?"

Haru doesn't know what he wants but he trusts Makoto. He lets Makoto coax him back, lifts his feet and feels Makoto's palms and spread fingers solid under him, Makoto supporting him as he floats. 

And then his body starts to remember. The water swells beneath him, lifts him up and cradles him as it brings him down, rocking him, and Haru feels the heavy darkness he's been trapped in draining off, the filth inside and out being washed away. As the water caresses him, Haru realizes that first step wasn't a slap from the water, it was just an overexcited welcoming. 

He rides the gentle, joyous swell of waves awhile, then takes a breath and on a whim arcs himself backward, dipping beneath the surface, skimming along below and then breeching it again. A spray of water flies from his hair as he shakes it when he comes up. 

Makoto is looking at him, smiling, smiling. Haru could put his feet down but he doesn't; he swims the few strokes to Makoto, wraps his arms around Makoto's neck, his legs around Makoto's waist, feels Makoto's arms coming around him. "You were doing it," Makoto says. He can't stop smiling and Haru feels infected, Makoto's smile tugging at the corners of his own mouth. "You don't need me," Makoto says but he doesn't let go. "You were doing it yourself."

"I know," Haru says but he doesn't let go either.

Another playful swell splashes around them, licking and adoring. Haru breathes easily for the first time in more days than he knows. He and Makoto are not Lost Boys after all: they are found, they belong, and they are free.


End file.
